


The Letter of the Law

by nomelon



Category: Fast Five (2011), Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Anger, Bad Decisions, Handcuffs, Hotel Sex, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Muscles, Restraints, Snark, grumpy muscular men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:25:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomelon/pseuds/nomelon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Trouble arrives without warning and it's embarrassing how fast Hobbs loses control of the situation.</i> -or- Hobbs gets a late night visitor in his hotel room in Rio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Letter of the Law

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: I would like to see some Dom/Hobbs porn with Dom on top and the kink prompt is "being restrained" make of that what you will. Original post here.
> 
> A/N: Ever so slightly AU on one detail, you'll see why when you read. This felt SO RIDICULOUS to write. Cannot be slashing The Rock. Cannot be slashing The Rock. Cannot be slashing The Rock. GAH, FANDOM. I KNOW NOT WHAT I DOOOOOOO.

Trouble arrives without warning and it's embarrassing how fast Hobbs loses control of the situation. He hadn't slept in close to 48 hours, too close to being, at best, inefficient and, at worst, a liability. He gave himself eight hours off to take a shower and catch up on some much needed but very inconvenient sleep away from their noisy, not to mention inadequate, base of operations. It figures that it's something this simple that turns out to be the single biggest mistake he's made since being assigned to the case. He opens his eyes in the dead of night to the sight of Dominic Toretto looming over him in the half-light of his shitty hotel room. He surges up in bed, adrenaline hitting his system like a sledgehammer to the chest, but Toretto has the advantage, using his weight to flip Hobbs and pin him with a knee in his back. Toretto twists Hobbs' arms up behind his back, there's a horribly familiar click-click-click of metal snapping into place around his wrists, and just like that, Hobbs is out of action. He struggles like he has the Devil himself on his back, but having Toretto in the room is like somebody holding up a mirror: he's big and he's strong, he's determined, and he sure as hell isn't backing down anytime soon.

Toretto presses the muzzle of a gun to the back of Hobbs' shoulder and Hobbs goes still as a stone. On second glance he can see the gun is his Beretta, left on the bedside table within easy reach, and he'd put good money on the handcuffs being his, too. He has to give it to Toretto: the man has balls, and he definitely knows how to improvise.

"Sit up. Lean back against the wall."

Hobbs does it, gritting his teeth so hard that cracking a tooth is a distinct possibility. Toretto quickly unlocks one cuff, loops it around the solid metal frame of the bed and snaps it back into place. He tests the cuffs and the frame, making sure they'll hold, and steps back, taking up space in the middle of the small room. He lays the gun out of reach on a shelf beside a lonely bible, the only unnecessary adornment in the whole room, and just stands there looking down with an unreadable expression on his face. Furious, Hobbs twists his body, giving the cuffs one good jerk, even though he can already tell it's a waste of time. The barest hint of a smirk crosses Toretto's face and Hobbs is certain, right down to his very core, that he's never been more irritated by anyone in his entire life.

Toretto reaches out, and Hobbs suffers a jolt of panic followed swiftly by an unfamiliar sense of helplessness. He briefly considers aiming a kick at Toretto's head. He'll only get one shot at it and he'd have to make it count, but there's still the problem of the cuffs and he has no other weapons to work with. The odds aren't exactly stacked in his favour. He holds his breath and steels himself to endure whatever punishment is about to be doled out.

Toretto closes his fist on the silver cross hanging around Hobbs' neck, his knuckles brushing bare skin, and yanks, only just hard enough to break the chain. He stares down at the cross in the palm of his hand, like he knows it was the stupidest thing in the world to come here looking for it, like he gladly would have died just to get it back. Hobbs has no idea what he's seeing here, but he thinks perhaps it's a glimpse at the real Dominic Toretto, the man behind the rap sheet, behind the criminal, the convict, the menace to society.

Neves handed over the cross after the fire-fight in the steep, jumbled maze of the favela, looking as sheepish as she ever got, telling him that Toretto had dropped it, right after he'd saved her life. Hobbs chose to view the act as a weakness; evidence that Toretto wasn't prepared to do whatever it took to bring the other side down. He thought perhaps he could exploit it somehow, use it to push Toretto to the edge. Now he's not so sure.

Toretto tucks the cross away in his pocket, and the shutters come back down. He says, "Sayonara," and that's all she wrote. He's halfway out of the room before Hobbs finds his tongue.

"Wait."

Toretto pauses, but doesn't turn around.

"Why in the hell would you risk coming here like this? You actually came here _alone_?"

Toretto tilts his head slightly, just enough that Hobbs can see the crease of his cheek from his wry smile. "Who says I came alone?"

"Because I doubt you'd have anybody around you stupid enough to think this was a good play, and I doubt you'd want to risk anyone else over a cheap hunk of silver."

No reaction. Hobbs just wants to stall him for as long as possible. He can still find a way out of this, a way to unfuck the situation. That's what he does. He's done with watching Toretto walk away from him, acting like he's untouchable, king of all he surveys. Hobbs is focused like a laser beam; he's been eating, drinking and sleeping this man and his team for weeks now. He's determined to bring Toretto down. If he has to be shackled to a bed, no weapons available, completely fucking helpless, and naked as the day he was born while he does it, so be it. Maybe he can get something out of Toretto, some sliver of information or insight he can use, or who knows, maybe he'll get lucky and one of his men will call. Protocol is three missed calls and somebody high-tails it to his location to make sure everything is okay. He could get lucky. Stranger things have happened.

"Who did it belong to?"

This time Toretto does turn around. He retraces his steps to the bed and leans in close. Hobbs lifts his chin and leans back, just trying to give himself glaring room and get Toretto out of his personal space, but there's a wall behind him and he doesn't gain more than a couple of inches. Toretto's smirk is blatant now, plastered over his face, and Hobbs knows he's fucking this up. He's losing ground and he's not even sure why.

"You sure that's what you really want to ask me?"

Hobbs stares him down. "You feel like telling me what you and your crew are up to, go ahead. Otherwise, yeah. I really want to know."

Toretto leans in another fraction. "None of your business," he says, slow and steady, close enough that Hobbs can feel the heat of the words against his cheek. Hobbs turns his head away before he realises what he's doing, baring his throat to the enemy. Toretto drops his voice to a rumbling murmur. "You feel like telling me why you were wearing it?"

There are a lot of reasons Hobbs could give: a trophy, a memento, a constant reminder of his target, of his prey, his enemy. None of them would be the truth. He wanted the silver against his skin. He just wanted to feel it, something that had belonged to Toretto, something that had clearly meant something to him. He just didn't realise the lengths Toretto would go to to get it back.

Toretto brushes the backs of his fingers down the dip of muscle in the centre of Hobbs' chest, right where the cross had been hanging, and it makes Hobbs draw in a shaky breath. Toretto glances down at the cheap, white sheets pooled in Hobbs' lap, and Hobbs knows precisely what it is he's seeing. He's been hard ever since Toretto got a knee in his back and slapped metal around his wrist. His head thuds back against the wall and all he can think is, ahh, _fuck_.

Toretto raises an eyebrow. "Interesting."

"Go to hell," Hobbs spits.

"Tell me to leave," Toretto says, suddenly serious, and the low growl of his voice sends shivers over every inch of Hobbs' skin. "Tell me and I'll go."

Hobbs' breath comes quick and shallow, but he doesn't say a word.

"That's what I thought," Toretto says, and with his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger, he tugs lightly on Hobbs' beard. "You want to give me a kiss, sweetheart, or are we doing this old school?"

Hobbs would throw a punch if he could, instead he settles for biting Toretto's lip almost hard enough to break the skin. Toretto hums his encouragement and makes it into more of a kiss, licking into Hobbs' mouth, nowhere near as violent as Hobbs would prefer it. Toretto runs his hands down Hobbs' sides, alternating between feather-light touches and scratching blunt nails over his skin, making Hobbs arch into his touch helplessly. Hobbs gives in to it, opens his mouth and kisses back, and things get a little crazy. It's possible that Hobbs has never felt so naked before, and the fact that Toretto remains stubbornly fully dressed just serves to make it worse.

Toretto doesn't stop kissing him as he pulls the sheet to one side, doing it slowly enough that it can't be anything but a tease, dragging it over Hobbs' lap and down over his thighs. Hobbs gasps at the sensation, breaking their kiss, and rolls his head on the wall, gulping down air, ashamed and exposed and really fucking turned on. Toretto pulls his wifebeater over his head, tosses it on the chair in the corner, licks his palm and goes to work. His hand is warm and callused, his grip tight, and Hobbs has to bite on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from coming there and then. He gets a better hold on the bed frame, just enough to give him a little leverage, and pushes his hips up, silently asking for more. He's vaguely aware of a clink of a belt buckle and the slap of leather, then Toretto is tugging him sideways, closer to the edge of the bed. It's awkward and one of Hobbs' hands is in danger of going to sleep, but all he wants to do is get closer, to rut against this man, knowing he's strong enough to hold both of them up, knowing that seeing Toretto fall apart like this will probably be the only victory he gets tonight. He wraps a leg around Toretto's hips and drags him in closer. Toretto freezes, slapping a hand against the wall to keep his balance, but Hobbs doesn't really think he has it in him right now for any showy attempts at crushing Toretto to death with his bare thighs. Right now all he wants is the solid heat of Toretto above him, both of them sweating freely now in the oppressive Rio heat, making everything hazy and slippery. Toretto gets one knee up on the mattress, takes both of them in his hand, and rolls his hips into it.

Hobbs curls his toes into the mattress as Toretto bites down on his collarbone, licking and sucking. The son of a bitch is probably doing it on purpose, marking him up right where the collar of his t-shirt lies, on the side where there's no tattoo to disguise it. Hobbs closes his eyes and rides the moment, the world fading down to this room, this moment, as he rushes towards the edge, no safety net, no way back. He cries out as he comes. Toretto works him through it then finishes himself off with another dozen strokes, coming all over Hobbs' stomach, breathing hot and damp against his throat.

There's a long moment devoid of movement, just the two of them breathing and shuddering through the aftershocks. Toretto's face is still pushed into Hobbs' throat. He presses a swift, unexpected kiss to Hobbs' shoulder and pushes himself up and away. He grabs the nearest item of clothing, one of Hobbs' t-shirts, and uses it to wipe off his stomach and the inside of one arm. He tosses the shirt in Hobbs' general direction and it lands in his lap, giving him a semblance of privacy. Toretto calmly tucks himself back into his pants, does up his fly and pulls his shirt back over his head. To the casual observer, he looks cool and collected. Hobbs is all too aware of the pink skin of his chest peeking out around the vest, the brightness of his eyes, and the puffiness of his lip where Hobbs bit him.

As this juncture, Hobbs is of the opinion that to call the evening surreal would be a severe understatement.

"What the fuck was this?" he asks, the words damning and irretrievable, spilling out of his mouth before he's even aware he's thinking them.

Toretto shrugs as he finishes refastening his belt. "I always did have a thing for cops chasing my tail." He holds up the keys to the cuffs between finger and thumb, shakes them a little, then sets them on the chair on the far side of the room. It's going to take some fancy manoeuvring and maybe a little wanton destruction of furniture, but Hobbs figures he can get to them inside of half an hour. Toretto will be long gone by then.

"You're a crazy son of a bitch. You are aware of that fact, right?"

Toretto gives him a lazy smile. "It's been brought to my attention on occasion. I guess I'll see you around, Agent Hobbs."

"Count on it," Hobbs says. Tonight was a mistake, no question, but it's over. Next time they meet, it's going to be on his terms and he's going to bring Toretto and his entire crew crashing down. Tonight doesn't change a thing. Sometimes Hobbs might deviate a little from the letter of the law, he can admit it, but in the end he doesn't fuck with it. That's just the way he's made.

**Author's Note:**

> <http://nomelon.livejournal.com/210762.html>


End file.
